


You Never Know

by babiebvy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Depressed John, Eventual Romance, I would never be so stale, John Can't Flirt, John is Sad as Fuck, John is a Good Friend, M/M, Sherlock Has a God Complex, Sherlock Thinks It's Cute, Sherlock is an author, They meet in a coffee shop but I swear it's not a coffee shop au, They're both oblivious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-06 09:17:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18848092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babiebvy/pseuds/babiebvy
Summary: John looks up from the title as a lonely, lanky man with a familiar face sits down on one of the chairs, looking down at his phone whilst sipping from his cup.Where have I seen that face?John flips to the last page of the novel at hand and looks down at the face printed.It's him. Sherlock Holmes.





	1. Epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning for this entire work by the way !! There will be aspects of depression between characters and mutual healing. :P

John likes to think he is an ordinary man, but he’s far from being ordinary. Three years from now he was being deployed to Afghanistan, and all that left him with was psychological trauma, a limp, an intermittent tremor in his right hand, and a bullet-sized scar above his left shoulder. Though it was him who chose to get a therapist, he lies to her about how he really feels. And even though he does this, she reads him easily. Lying is John's pathetic disguise, like shoving the mess of a bedroom in a closet. 

John doesn’t understand how somebody could healthily enjoy a job like that, day by day you watch people suffer. Well, he understands how it feels for the constant suffering around you, he was an army doctor. But clients like hers, they’re suffering mentally and rotting from the inside out. Maybe it’s because she has the constant urge to fix or tend to, like she enjoys watching their broken minds and putting them back together, her own fixed person is like a golden medal. Or maybe it makes her feel better about her own personal affairs and weaknesses, like the more messed up a client the better he feels. 

That’s why he lies.

He doesn’t want to be a project for her to tend to, and he especially doesn’t want to be an ego booster.

He lies whenever she asks him questions.

 _'How did you sleep?'_  
_Good, I slept well._

When he didn’t sleep for more than an hour.

 _'How are you feeling?'_  
_I'm doing fine._

When he feels like ripping his skin off.

He smiles when he lies, he thinks it makes it seem reassuring. Though its always a small smile, weak and barely noticed. An edited smile he prodded and poked at before an appointment.

But she’s seen that smile before. It gives her the real answers. She can tell he hasn’t slept well in weeks, that he’s running on coffee and crackers. She can see how weak and numb he is at the same time. He’s depressed.

But what she doesn’t know is the gun in his apartment. He looks at it daily, wondering if he should use it on the intruder in his mind.


	2. Shaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, regrettably, takes his therapists advice.
> 
> Why did he listen?

_-he lies to her about how he really feels. And even though he does this, she reads him easily._

John likes to script his day, it gives him stability. Like before he goes to the shop, he’ll script any potential interaction to prevent any sort of disaster. His last session had gone as planned. He still lied, she saw through it. But at the end she suggested something that wasn’t in his script.

She told him to begin reading in his spare time, when in truth, he always has spare time. That was all. Reading what? She never specified, what was he supposed to go on? Should he be reading fictional books like thrillers or fairy tales? Should he be reading informal pieces like about how the earth’s dying or 100+ ways to tie your shoes? Or maybe even autobiography’s to hear other people’s story’s? He needed answers, but he never asked questions.

That wasn’t in his script.

So, as an alternative of asking for any mean of direction, he showed up to a bookshop without a single idea of what he was looking for.

He was there for more than an hour, scanning over plenty of works and reading their summaries. And if he was honest, he wasn’t having a fun time. One by one, he picked up titles and read their backs that had no interest to him. Some books were questionable as well, strange erotic novels that depicted sex in a way someone who’s never had sex would. There was even a very specific love story between a school girl and her math tutor that made John leave the section entirely.

After a while, staff there felt the need to help this poor, wandering man. John was not happy about this at all.

A tall girl with round glasses and trousers that went over her ankles and dragged against the flat, gray carpet, walked up to John with a crooked smile.

He had his back to her at the time, looking down at another one of the countless books that seemed to be the written fantasy of a forsaken middle school girl.

“Hello, is there anything I can help you with, Sir?”

John jolted at the unexpected sound, for the shop had been mostly quiet since he’d arrived with the exception of soft pop music, which he’d never catch himself listening to by himself, playing in the background. 

A simple line like this spoken is honestly the worst thing that John could encounter with.

He turned around and forced a smile and shrugged his shoulders, “Dunno, really. ‘Can’t exactly find what I want.”

She smiled brighter as though she didn’t notice the twitch in his eye or the redness of his complexion. “Well, what is it you’re looking for?” She squeaked back at him.

_God, her voice is annoying._

He chuckled uncomfortably and glanced at his shoes, “I don’t know, actually.” He said nervously, looking back into her eyes. He’s hating every part of this, his mind on . He can see her talking but he’s drowning it out, looking over her instead. Though she had glasses on, she also had colored contacts in her eyes as well. Are they fake glasses? Her hair is matted and dirty but pulled back into a small bun as though to conceal it. Her shirt was an ugly shade of green with small frills on the sleeves. Her trousers had quilt-like patches over the knees and hips. She doesn’t look like one of the many people he sees around London, it’s curious.

“ _So_ , would you like me to show you?” He finally looked back up to her face, missing everything she had said. Instead of asking her to repeat herself, he nodded dumbly and straightened his shoulders.

She giggled and started walking off to the back of the shop, he looked around as though he was thinking of an escape plan. He grumbled in defeat and caught back up behind her.

Now that her back was to him, he could clock her without worry. Her trainers look older than the rest of her, though she seems to like them even with the dirt stains on the fabric. Where in central London did she go to get so dirty? Her baggy trousers truly did no justice for her small behind and lengthy legs. Why does she dress that way? Her hips are small to, the waistline slides down low to reveal a neon pink thong. 

John can’t explain why gagged a little.

After what seemed like hours, which was really thirty seconds, she brought him to the back where a black door, that seemed to be made entirely out of plastic, stood shut. She smiled down at John with her crookedly, where he noticed her unbelievably chapped lips. 

She opened the door, expecting John to walk in. The room was small and cramped, a mop laid against the wall with a blue rack covered with spray bottles of who knows what and rags in buckets of mucky soap water. Is he in a janitor’s closet? Why is he in a janitor’s closet? 

“So, ‘ave you done this before?”

John knew he looked stupid, ogling at her dumbly. “Done what?”

Annoyingly, she answered with a question, “What do you think we’re in here for?”

John hadn’t a clue, though avoiding the monstrosity of admitting his confusion, he made random noises of nervousness which he damn well had.

She smiled with her teeth now and looked at John as though he was a small, adorable child. Giggling again, she said three words that made John scowl in both defense and confusion.

“You’re a

 _virgin!_ "

It was more a revelation than a statement to her, like she’s surprisingly ecstatic.

“I’m sorry, what? I am not!”

Yes he is.

“Yes you are. Look at you, you’re shaking!”

His cheeks burned and his stomach grew a heavy pit as he stared at her.

“I-I’m just cold.”

“It’s 25 in here, you’re anything but cold.”

She made herself closer to him, where he had backed himself against the wall.

The shakiness in John’s knees on intensified as she drew closer. It felt predatory, he hated feeling vulnerable.

_God, I should’ve stayed home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though short, the purpose of this chapter is to show John's lack of social skills, his sexual repression, and constant wandering mind. :^)
> 
> The closet scene was low-key inspired by Kill Your Darlings, so, uh, credit to John Krokidas and Austin Bunn.


	3. Respectable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My introduction to Sherlock!! WOOOO

People want what they can’t have, Sherlock understands that.

Those born into being known and flourished in riches just want to be treated like a normal person while those born into the poverty or even the norm want to be treated as though they are worth something more. Sherlock has and is both of these things. When he was a child, his father had remained jobless for years, making their family barely get by.

As he grew older, he realized he was quite good with his mouth and learned how to manipulate those of authority to give him what he wanted. 

When it started, the manipulation, he couldn’t stop. Up and up he went along with men and women who worked hard for their positions, whilst Sherlock just knew how to open up people.

Though Sherlock is good with his words, too, Sherlock never speaks when he’s working.

One by one, more notches on his belt and more money in his pocket. Though he became addicted to going higher and higher, he didn’t love what he was doing. Throughout the climbing of the ladder, he told himself to think about making something of himself.

Sherlock truly regrets ever stepping into the direction of the path he’s followed for years. He can’t go back now, his name is known, his name is respected. But it shouldn’t be. He’s a menace of a man, a professional liar. If young Sherlock could see himself now, he would have never done it. He would’ve used his real potential to go on, to succeed.

Though, when he was just a little tyke, he wanted to be a pirate, he was and still is immensely talented. 

He has a gift for the arts, through music and creating works. He can hold an instrument or a brush like he was born to. 

Instead of using his real abilities, he blew his way into importance. Look where that got him; a bestselling author, co-owner of big-named business’, and a respectable man. 

But he is unhappy, ‘cause that isn't him.

He isn’t S. Holmes.

His name is Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, I am implying he fucked his way to success.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy future chapters !! :)


End file.
